


want you to want me

by onebatch2batch



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Frank is an actual pitbull in human form, Happy Ending, Karen gets a stalker, Realization of Feelings, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 13:53:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14333850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onebatch2batch/pseuds/onebatch2batch
Summary: A small part of her wants to tell Frank, but an even bigger part of her screams no. He’s finally getting acclimated to a world where he doesn’t have to shed any more blood. Where he can spend his evenings on her couch eating Thai food, or go to work without having to wear a Kevlar vest. She can’t drag him back into his role as The Punisher. She won’t.Karen Page is a big girl, and she can handle this on her own.AKA Karen gets a stalker and it ends as well as expected.





	want you to want me

**Author's Note:**

> @denimandcabernet on tumblr prompted: Karen develops a stalker and tries so hard to keep it from Frank until stalker starts getting brave and showing his face. Frank knows Karen is hiding something and figures it out when they are together and stalker shows up and she reacts.

Karen wakes to a knocking on her front door.

For a long moment, she considers going back to sleep. Her clock reads 2:15 in the morning and her alarm is set to go off in four hours. It could be her upstairs neighbor, asking about her lost cat again. It could also be the neighbor kid, playing ding-dong-ditch. She’s just decided to let sleep reclaim her when there’s another, more insistent knocking. This time, she sits up on high alert.

She lets out a shaky breath and clambers out of bed, grabbing the gun on her nightstand. The smooth metal is cold but comforting in her hands. She hasn’t needed it in a long time now, but there’s an eerie feeling settling in her bones. A third knock has her wide-awake, and she steps slowly towards the front door. When she looks through the peephole, the hallway is empty. Karen hesitates, listening hard for any sign of movement.

She could go back to bed and investigate in the morning, but she knows that if she doesn’t now there’s no way she’ll manage sleep.

“Hello?” She calls after a moment, the smallest tremor in her voice.

Nothing.

Karen steadies herself and unlatches the door, pulling it open slowly. The hallway is deserted but for a large, beautiful vase of roses on her welcome mat. The roses are nestled in baby’s breath and bursting with crimson petals. Even in the dim hallway light she can see that they’re fresh. She glances around again and then crouches down, picking it up carefully.

Once the door is closed and locked again, she sets the vase on the kitchen island and stares at it wordlessly. There’s no note, and no sign of who would have sent them to her. Instantly her mind goes to Frank, but she knows better. He would never do something this…creepy. It has to be from someone who doesn’t know her well; who wouldn’t know that she would hate a secret, romantic delivery in the early hours of the morning.

It’s nearly half past two went she settles beneath her comforter once more, having checked the windows and locks twice over. Sleep will be hard now, but she keeps her gun on the bedside table and leaves the bathroom light on. Just in case.

 

\--

 

The next day brings more unpleasant surprises.

Morning comes far too quickly, and after hitting her snooze several times, she finds herself running extremely behind. She hardly has time to think about her late night visitor or their gift before she is running out the door. When she gets in line for her coffee at her favorite shop, the one half a block from her apartment, she finds her drink has already been paid for. Karen stares at the barista and feels dread settling in her stomach, but when she asks, he just shrugs.

“Don’t know what his name was,” he says in response to her question, and then moves on to the next sleepy New Yorker in line. She takes her coffee with a perturbed look, glancing around the shop.

No one out of the ordinary. No one even looking at her. She hurries out.

At work, there’s a manila envelope sitting on her ‘In’ pile. She sets down her coffee and picks it up curiously, but there’s only her name on the front. No return address. The handwriting is short and practiced. Inside, she finds several of her own articles, cut out and decorated with notes and highlights. In the margins she finds suggestions, compliments, or question marks.

The last page in the folder is a note. It reads, _Karen, I hope you liked the roses. Sometimes I see white ones in your window, but red would look much better, don’t you think? Your biggest fan, E_

She sits heavily in her chair, chest tight. In the course of her career with _The Bulletin_ , she’s received several fan letters. She’s even met people on the street who have recognized her and professed their admiration for her work. Those small instances she can handle. She almost likes them, because it means she’s influencing at least a small part of New York. This—this is different. This is a stalker, someone who has been watching her for God knows how long. Who knows where she lives, and where she frequents. The idea makes her a little sick.

Karen is yanked out of her thoughts when her phone beeps. She sets down the note and opens the text.

_Thai tonight? Free all evening. –F_

A small inkling of calm fills her. With Frank at her place, she’ll be safe. She won’t tell him, not until she needs to. For now, she can only hope that if she ignores the gifts and the notes, it will all just…go away. She stuffs the folder in the bottom drawer of her desk and casts it out of her mind as much as possible.

 

\--

 

Frank shows up a little after seven with a bottle of wine and the first season of M.A.S.H. on DVD. She lets him in and locks the door as soon as he’s stepped through the threshold, even as a sense of peace settles over her. Having him standing in her apartment once brought fear and panic—now, the comfort his presence brings is exactly what she needs. When she turns away from the door, he’s looking at the pot of red. He raises a brow.

“Secret admirer?” he asks, curious.

“Oh, yeah. Just from a reader,” she says, brushing past and digging though a drawer to find the take out menu. He grunts something that sounds a lot like _awfully nice of them_ , toeing off his boots.

“Thai Palace?” she asks, refusing to look at him.

“Uh huh. Don’t know why you’re looking for the menu, ya always get the same thing.” His voice is a touch amused, and she’s glad for the change of subject. Karen opens the menu and peers at him over the top.

“ _Some_ of us like to explore the options, even if _some_ of us do end up getting Red Curry every time.”

He rolls his eyes and gestures. “Well hurry up and ‘explore’—I’m starved.”

 

\--

 

They’re halfway through the second episode of M.A.S.H. when there’s a buzz from the door. Karen tenses and shoots up from her reclined position on the couch. Frank gives her a frown, holding out a pacifying hand.

“It’s just the Thai, Karen. Okay?”

She swallows down some of the panic welling in her throat and nods. When he stands to get the food she buries her face in her hands and takes a deep breath. “Calm down, Karen,” she mutters. “Just calm the fuck down.”

It’s only a minute or two that Frank’s gone but by the time he’s back, she’s got two plates out and has poured them both more wine. He unpacks the bag of food and shoots her concerned glances. She ignores them, but before she can head back for the couch, he puts a hand on her shoulder.

“What’s goin’ on with you tonight?” he asks, brow furrowed.

Karen plasters a smile on her face. “Nothing. You coming or what? We have about four more episodes on the roster.”

Frank lets her go, but she doesn’t miss the suspicious looks he throws at her throughout the rest of the evening.

  
\--

 

 Her stalker doesn’t go away. In fact, they get a little more adventurous.

Karen finds a package on her doorstep a week later. She’s halfway through pulling her keys out of her purse when she sees it, and she comes to a full stop a few feet away. The hallway is empty, but she can hears her neighbor’s television blaring some reality tv show. When she comes closer, she realizes the box is unmarked other than KAREN in short, blocky letters. She recognizes the handwriting instantly.

Inside her apartment, she stares at the box with a cup of coffee cradled to her chest.

_It could be a bomb,_ her mind supplies helpfully. _And the more you sit here…_

She sets down her cup and leans forward, carefully opening the top. Buried underneath crumpled newspaper—all _The Bulletin_ pages, she realizes absently—is a smaller box. Inside that, there is a bracelet. It’s a charm bracelet, and she looks at them carefully, searching for any kind of a clue. There’s a stack of newspapers, of course. There’s also a small rose pendant, sandwiched between a heart and a blue gem. The final charm is a small, intricate key. She swallows hard and looks back in the box, where an envelope lays innocently at the bottom. When she opens it, it reads: _Karen, you now have the key to my heart. Your blue eyes are like gems, and they haunt my waking hours. I hope you’ll wear it. When you do, I’ll know you’re ready. E_

Nervous, anxious laughter bubbles up and fills her ears. She shoves the note and the charm bracelet back in the box and kicks it under the couch, then paces back and forth and tries to calm herself down. The curtains are drawn but she still feels open, exposed.

A small part of her wants to tell Frank, but an even bigger part of her screams _no_. He’s finally getting acclimated to a world where he doesn’t have to shed any more blood. Where he can spend his evenings on her couch eating Thai food, or go to work without having to wear a Kevlar vest. She can’t drag him back into his role as The Punisher. She won’t.

Karen Page is a big girl, and she can handle this on her own.

 

\--

 

Another week goes by. A week of constantly looking over her shoulder, double and triple checking her locks, and restless sleep. She gets home from work on a Thursday and realizes that she hasn’t done laundry in well over a week; her peaceful night indoors turns into a frantic scramble for quarters and a trip to the Laundromat. 

It’s there that she sees him for the first time.

Karen unloads her clothes into the washer, darks in one and whites in the other. She fills the machine with quarters and then takes up residence at a table in the corner. With her headphones in, she’s more than content to type out an article on her laptop. Halfway through, she glances up to check on time left and notices a man in the corner.

He’s tall, taller than herself. She notices that he’s sitting alone, with no phone or book to keep him occupied. He meets her gaze and smiles slowly, tilting his head in greeting. Karen looks away quickly, swallowing. Laundromats always creep her out—but that is beyond the normal. That’s—

_That’s my stalker._ As soon as the thought pops into her brain, she knows it to be true. Paranoia be damned, the man sitting in the corner with the dark hair and _I <3NY _t-shirt on is the man that’s been following her. Goosebumps crawl along her skin. Her machine goes off but she doesn’t move, panic rooting her to the chair.

She should call Frank. She should call the police. She should do something, other than sit here like a deer in headlights. The Laundromat is nearly empty—there’s only a woman half asleep in a plastic chair, and a man with his two kids down the aisle, folding a towel. Her stalker looks like he’s not planning on leaving any time soon.

Karen stands slowly and makes her way to her machine, keeping him in her peripheral. He doesn’t move except to turn his head, following her with his eyes. Karen moves her clothing over to a dryer quickly, inserting her quarters with shaking hands. On the second machine, she realizes she’s two quarters short just as a presence makes itself known at her elbow.

“Looks like you need a knight in shining armour,” the voice says.

Karen stiffens. Her stalker has moved from the corner to not three feet away. In his hand are two lonely quarters. He grins at her with straight teeth. “Name’s Eugene,” he says when she doesn’t move. 

Alarms start to blare in her mind. Karen thinks, _My gun is in my purse_ , and takes a step back towards it. The stranger moves forward and deposits his corners in the machine, saccharine smile plastered on his face. Karen feels as if her heart is going to burst through her chest.

“You look nice tonight, Karen,” he says after he flips the switch to turn the machine on. “But I think you’re missing something.”

Karen stares at him wordlessly. Half of her is screaming to run, the other half is tensed and ready to knock him in the teeth in he comes any closer. He gestures to her bare wrist with a disappointed sigh. Karen clenches her fists.

“You need to stop following me,” she says finally, mouth dry. “You need to leave me alone, and stop sending me things. It’s not—it’s not proper.”

_Proper?_ What is she, a 1800s socialite? Karen tilts her chin up and gives him a hard stare. Daring him.

Eugene returns her stare, frowning. He shakes his head. “You weren’t ready,” he mutters, backing away, “You weren’t ready for me. I—I messed up. Just, okay? Just give me another chance. I’ll make it better. Okay? Okay. I’m—okay. Goodbye, Karen.”

He’s gone before she can muster up a response, the bell above the door jingling cheerfully. Karen shudders and leans against the machine, suddenly exhausted. She can only hope that will be the last she’ll see of him, but deep down, she knows otherwise.

Eugene will be back.

 

\--

 

The next couple of days are quiet. Karen goes to work, comes home, and doesn’t come back out. She keeps her curtains drawn and the door locked. Her gun is always close, and she deletes any social media apps that might share her location. All precautions are taken, and yet she still doesn’t feel safe, still can’t sleep deeply enough to get actual rest. It’s a Saturday night when she finds herself falling asleep on the couch to _Friends_ reruns, unable to stay up. The next thing she knows, she’s being shaken awake.

“Karen? Kare!”

Karen gasps awake, shooting up and knocking heads with the person standing above her. She scrambles for her gun but the man grabs her wrist gently and holds her still.

“Karen, it’s me.”

“Frank,” she breathes, slumping back onto the couch. He’s awash in the blue light from her television, and a quick glance at the clock tells her it’s nearly eleven at night. Frank stares at her like he’s unsure of what he’s looking at, hand brushing back her hair.

“You okay? What the hell is goin’ on?”

“Nothing,” Karen says quickly, pushing him aside. She heads into the kitchen for some water, temple throbbing. Once she has a couple Advil down, she realizes he hasn’t moved. In fact, he’s crouched down and has one hand in the box from under her couch. “Frank, no, wait. Leave that al--…”

Frank picks up the box and brings it into the kitchen, depositing it on the counter. He gives her an incredulous look. “What is this? Who is E? Is this what’s freakin’ you out?”

“No.” Karen looks away, the very image of the box making her ill. “No, it’s just—it was a gift from—um…”

“Karen.” The tone in his voice leaves no room for argument. He’s looking at her, his stare a mixture of worry, tenderness, anger. Not anger at her, she knows, but anger nonetheless. “Tell me, please.”

She leans on the counter and tucks her hair behind her ears. The apartment is quiet. “Someone has been…following me. Stalking me. He, um…he left flowers a couple of weeks ago.”

Frank taps his trigger finger, a gesture not lost on her. His expression is carefully controlled. “And the bracelet?”

“And—…” She stops, unsure. The last thing she needs right now is for Frank to leave, to try and track this guy down. She doesn’t want that on her conscience. In fact, all she wants is some sleep and some comfort. Some reassurance. “…and I met him. He followed me to the Laundromat a couple days ago.”

Frank inhales sharply. “Did he hurt you?”

“No, no. Um. I told him to leave me alone, and stop sending me things. And he said something about how I wasn’t ready. Then he left.” Karen peeks at his expression nervously, but he’s already coming around the counter and enveloping her in his arms.

“What d’you need?” He says softly into her ear.

Karen sighs, burying her face into his shoulder. She inhales deeply, comforted by his familiar scent. She smiles for what feels like the first time in days.

“This,” she says quietly, “Just this.”

 

\--

 

After that, Frank sticks around more than usual. He starts staying the night on her couch. Even if he says it’s because he can’t be bothered to walk back to his place, she knows differently. Nonetheless, she appreciates the gesture—and she starts to sleep easier with him there. 

Frank is there to walk her home from work, too. He waits in the shadow of the building and then keeps her company, eyes scanning the darkness like a watchdog. It’s endearing and makes her heart thump with intense affection. He helps her pawn off the bracelet, and replaces the roses with a bouquet of vibrant daisies that sit in her window cheerfully. While she’s at work one day, he changes the locks on her door and windows and installs a rudimentary surveillance kit.

His constant presence is calming. Karen finally starts to relax, and begins refocusing on work with new vigor. There’s a politician with rumored ties to a gang in Hell’s Kitchen and she throws herself into the story.

One night after working late, Frank picks her up as usual. They set off down the sidewalk and Karen is halfway through telling Frank about her interview planned for the next day, when he stops short. His hand is on his gun in a flash and he pushes her behind his back. Karen looks over her shoulder and goes cold at the figure standing in their path.

Eugene. He’s wearing a combination of beanie and hoodie that reminds her achingly of Frank’s usual get-up. He looks absolutely devastated in the light of the streetlamp. Karen realizes he’s holding something shining in his hand.

“Karen,” he moans, “Karen, I said I was sorry. You don’t have to be with him. You can be with me. I’ll make you happy, _please_.”

Frank moves a noise between a scoff and a growl.  “Get out of here. Leave her the fuck alone.”

“I wasn’t _talking to you_!” His shriek echoes in the empty street. Karen grabs Frank’s arm nervously.

“Frank, he has a--…”

“I see it,” Frank says evenly. He steps forward, out of her grasp. “Listen, kid. She doesn’t want you. Get outta here.”

Eugene steps forward, tears streaming down his cheeks. He holds up his knife weakly, eyes trained on Karen. “I’ll win her back,” he declares. “I will!”

“You never had me,” Karen says, scowling. She reaches into her pocket, searching for her phone. Eugene lurches forward, knife cutting through the air. In two quick movements, Frank knocks the knife to the ground and slams her stalker against a building. Karen gasps, covering her mouth.

“You listen to me, asshole,” Frank growls. His voice is like gravel; the voice of The Punisher. “She doesn’t want you, she doesn’t want your fuckin’ gifts, she wants you to leave her alone. You hear me? You come near that woman ever again and you won’t live to read another one of her articles.”

Eugene cries quietly, slumped against the wall. Frank grabs his face in one hand, shaking him slightly.

“ _You hear me_?” He asks again.

When Eugene nods, Frank lets go and steps back. Eugene crashes to the ground in a ball, sobbing. Karen steps forward, a small part of her wishing Frank hadn’t been so hard on him—and the other part knowing he could have been harder.

Frank seems to come back to himself and looks at her, eyes hooded. “C’mon,” he says quietly, taking her hand.

Karen lets him lead her home.

 

\--

 

Her apartment is quiet. Even their movements, soft and muffled, are drowned out by the tension in the room. Karen disappears to change and comes out to find Frank watching the coffee drip, lost in thought.

“Hey,” she says, putting a hand on his arm, “thank you. For what you did.”

He gives her a sidelong look, hands braced on the counter. “Thought you’d be mad.”

Karen frowns a little at that. “Frank…before I told you about him, I wasn’t sleeping. I was terrified to be alone. I dished out so much money on cabs, just so I didn’t have to walk alone.” She cringes at the thought. “I’m just glad you were here to look out for me.”

He turns to face her, eyes soft. “You should have told me sooner.”

Karen pushes her hair back, bracing her hip on the counter. They’re so close she can feel the heat of him through her pajamas. The sweet smell of coffee fills her nose. “I didn’t want to put you in a position of…well. I know you’ve been trying to live normally.”

He scoffs. “Don’t think I’ll ever be that.”

“Yeah, maybe.” She purses her lips in consideration. “Do you think he’ll come around again?”

“If he does, I’ll handle it. He’s not gonna touch you, Karen.”

It’s the way he says her name that gives her pause. Karen looks up at him; watches as his gaze goes from determined to fond to so tender that her heart sputters. She reaches up and hesitates, hand hovering over his cheek. Frank searches her face, smiles slowly, and turns his head just enough to brush his lips over the pads of her fingers. Karen feels a ripple of desire so suddenly it nearly knocks her off her feet.

 “Are you staying tonight?” she whispers, stepping closer.

He dips his head, knuckles brushing down her arm. “If ya want,” he rumbles.

“Don’t sleep on the couch.”

Frank cracks a grin. “Yeah?”

She feels her returning grin before she realizes she’s doing it. Anticipation and the adrenaline of the evening makes her giddy. “Yeah,” she says, tilting her head up to kiss him.

She has a feeling it will be the last time he spends the night on the couch for a long time.

 

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on tumblr! (@onebatch2batch)


End file.
